Shadows
by usakeh
Summary: It's late and Detective Bobby Goren still can't seem to fall asleep.


_It took a while for me to know, that I am not alone._

(In the Walls – stellastarr)

Detective Bobby Goren hated the slow way the hours slid by between midnight and three o'clock in the morning.

Since age sixteen, he had not spent more than four hours a night sleeping; as a result he usually rested from three to seven o'clock in the morning. In fact, he found it near impossible to get to bed any earlier. He attributed this to a combination of force of habit and a seemingly inexhaustible supply of nervous energy.

Detective Bobby Goren did not mind his rather eccentric temperament, most of the time.

His spectacular ability to pick out patterns was invaluable in his work; the rapidity with which he could connect ideas facilitated the solving of every single case; the same mix of alertness and anxiety that kept him awake helped him keep working for days straight.

Sometimes Bobby would find himself unable to articulate the exact way he saw the facts of the case flowing into each other. To him they wove and unwove themselves together in waves. Once one strand unraveled he just had to tug some more and they'd all spin their way free. His former partners had never understood this. They had looked at his maps and the papers piling up at his desk and frowned in frustration. They had sighed, exasperated, as he searched for the right words and struggled to keep his thoughts from crashing and colliding together. And, inevitably, every single one of them had filed transfer requests. He was impossible to work with, supposedly. He drove his partners mad.

Bobby used to have the deep suspicion that he, too, was mad. His partners certainly thought so. They couldn't understand his compulsions or why seemingly simple things confused him. They couldn't understand how he tried to communicate with them or how he solved cases. They couldn't understand _him_, at all. Had they known about his mother they would probably have shaken their heads and written him off for sure.

That was before he met Alexandra Eames. It didn't take long. Within a few weeks, they worked wonderfully together. She guided him, kept him stable, served as an interpreter between the twists and turns of his mind and the order needed by the outside world. The straightforward logic she employed steered him along as he navigated through swirls and spirals that seemed to spin themselves together, almost without his control. When she was out sick he always felt strangely lost, helpless.

Detective Bobby Goren slammed his book shut and got to his feet. He couldn't concentrate on reading. He flicked on the television; after skimming through various channels he hit the button again and watched the image fade to black. Pacing through his cramped apartment, he considered his options. He could go for a walk. He could make himself dinner. He could clean up the apartment. He could play solitaire. The tall detective sighed. He didn't want to go outside, as he felt strangely suspicious of every shadow. He didn't want to eat, as he wasn't hungry. He didn't want to clean up the apartment, as he felt far too disoriented to do a proper job of it. Bobby was a perfectionist. He'd rather have his apartment be a mess than try to clean it and not have it come out right. And he definitely didn't want to play solitaire.

Bobby stepped over to the window and stared out. It had just rained; water was dripping down the graying glass and sliding across the streets. Bobby had always liked the way light looked on rainy nights. When he looked closely enough he could see it scattering up out of the water and splitting into millions of tiny, brittle beams. The detective raised his hands and pressed them against the cool glass. There was no reason in the world why he of all people would need to worry about going for a walk out there. Nobody was going to hurt him; nothing was lying there in wait. So why did it feel so damn dangerous?

It would be better when the sun rose. It always was. He'd take the subway to work and step into the familiar building with the slightly tilted sign (which, one of these days, he was going to straighten) and stride up to his desk and sit down across from Eames. Eames would smile at him; everything would be just as it should be. When Eames was around the world was solid. It was only at night that shapes blended into the shadows until the shadows themselves started to seem real. Sometimes Bobby wondered whether or not the feeling of fluidity he got when he looked about him was normal. But he had nothing to compare it to, and he could never quite explain it.

He didn't even notice it most of the time, actually. It was only when it was late or particularly intense that he became aware of how acutely alert he really was to his surroundings. He could see every detail; he could hear every little noise; he could feel the way the fabric of his clothing brushed against his skin as he walked. Once when Eames had asked him what the matter was he had paused for almost a minute, trying to think of a way to say it. For some reason only one phrase filled his anxious mind. He had wanted to say that he wished they could turn down the sun.

But he'd shaken his head and said that everything was fine, instead. Eames had cast him a curious glance; he'd sighed and stepped out of the car and gone back to work. He had wanted them to turn down the sun. Bobby went back to the sofa and sat down heavily. It was midnight now. Why did everything still seem so bright?

Bobby got up, strode over to the door, and turned off the lights. Save for the faint glow of a neon sign from across the street the room was dark. The detective sighed again. It was when he had to turn off the lights that the way he thought would start to scare him. There were too many ideas in his mind, all fighting for his attention. Each was at once incoherent and incredibly significant, and he had the sudden urge to run out into the street and start speaking to the first stranger he could find.

Sometimes Detective Bobby Goren would start to wonder what would happen if it just didn't stop, one night. As it was the feeling came and went. It was part of him. During his workday he'd find himself drawing on it once and again. During his workday he found himself needing it. During the night he felt as though it was an alien being that needed him. Bobby began pacing again. He could always go for a walk. He could always make himself dinner. He could always clean up the apartment. He could always–

–call Alex.

Bobby leaned towards the digital clock shining out from the microwave in the kitchen. It was almost one o'clock. Alex was probably sleeping.

Still, Bobby glanced back at the phone. Maybe she'd still be awake. Maybe they could just talk, for a while. He could explain everything. She could speak and he could listen to her voice and his surroundings would solidify again, the shadows fading into stillness.

Sometimes Detective Bobby Goren couldn't help but wonder whether or not he was going to end up with full-fledged schizophrenia, just like his mother. He'd read book after book about it. He'd done his research, as if the careful reasoning of the scholar could keep him safe.

But Bobby knew that he wasn't like his mother. Her world closed in around her, making the one he inhabited flicker and fade away. His experience couldn't be more different. The outside world never left him; instead, it burst to light in brilliant color every single second of the day and most of the night. It overwhelmed him. His mother had slowed down, stopped. Her only actions were in response to a reality she'd constructed exclusively for herself. Her hysteria would happen when her world and the one the rest of humanity inhabited crashed together, collided. Bobby sometimes suspected that he was the same way. Deep down, however, he knew that he couldn't be more wrong.

He wasn't removed from the world. He was closer to it than anybody else he knew. The connection could become almost direct at times, as if he was tapping into a deep, intrinsic energy. It was thrilling, almost as if his blood burned with an inexplicable sort of electricity. All he wanted was to be able to turn it down, yet he knew he couldn't. It was like trying to turn down the sun.

Detective Bobby Goren shook his head and spoke softly to himself, his whispers widening out into the empty room.

Then he strode over to the table by the window and picked up the phone.


End file.
